


human touch

by thedevil_yaknow



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019), Harley Quinn (Comics)
Genre: 1950s AU, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, F/F, Fluff, I promise, It's Gonna Be Angsty, Tension, but it's gonna be one hell of a ride, it'll have a happy ending, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevil_yaknow/pseuds/thedevil_yaknow
Summary: Harleen Quinzel is a picturesque housewife. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a waist that kills it in a pleated skirt and the perfect little family. A hardworking husband and a sweet baby girl at home.Unfortunately, every house holds secrets. Secrets held in walls; wallpaper dripping in words that wouldn't dare be spoken out loud. Colored brightly and covering something left unsaid, bruises left hidden. Cuts from words and closed fists of a cold lover already lost to another woman.Until October 1954, when a mysterious new neighbor moves in across the street. Attractive, unmarried and riding around town in a custom, pink ‘49 Packard Victoria convertible, Pamela Isley is unlike any other woman in Gotham.Tucked away in a house of secrets, could Harley find her warmth in a woman that smells like lavender, mint and dirt? Find the future she dreamt of on the lips of a woman dripping in honey and coffee?Or will the walls of Harley's home continue to soak up bourbon drenched nights followed by rough hands on her skin and the perfume of another woman filling her lungs?
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson (mentions), Harley Quinn/Poison Ivy, Harlivy, Joker/Harley (it's not good), Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne (mentions)
Comments: 82
Kudos: 243





	1. if walls could talk

**Author's Note:**

> a new au for my babies. (college au is on hiatus) 
> 
> big thank you to omagerdnerdynord for the au prompt - who unknowingly hit all of my buttons with this one~
> 
> and a big thank you to Leigh-Ann for being my beta reader, since she also loves 1950s wlw content :)
> 
> playlist for the fic can be found here:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ffIXnbK0ylYIIAOjFWdHW?si=FAjL46NXSWOWoKnKb8f5oQ

“ _Earth angel, earth_ _hmmhmmm_ _...please be mineee...”_

The sun beat down on pale skin as it peeked through the large living room window. The sheer curtains providing little reprieve from the direct light. The blonde felt her skin warm under the reflection of light and closed her eyes against the sun. 

“... _Hmm darling dear, love hmmm all the_ _timeee_ _..._ ” 

Harley felt her skirt graze her legs, the light touch of the fabric bringing a shiver to her skin. Her hips swayed to the tune in her head as she moved from pillow to pillow on the sofa, fluffing them up to the perfect size. Leaning back on her heels, she admired her work – the couch never looked better. 

“ _..._ _hmmmhmmm_ _fooool_ _...a fool in love with you -_ ” 

The young woman continued her song as she moved to the Hoover set neatly next to the sofa, clicking it on and lifting the hose in one swift motion. Harley moved the brush head over the textured carpet around the wooden coffee table. As she bumped the plastic brush housing against the legs of the table, magazines shifted. A stack of LIFE and Better Homes & Gardens shifted next to one stray Vogue Magazine. Harley caught the woman’s green eyes on the cover before moving her eyes to the lady’s velvety mushroom hat and slick gloves. Blue eyes clouded, even if only for a moment. 

If Harley had to describe the woman, she would maybe call her “picturesque”. Hell, that’s why she was drawn to the magazine that day in Penny’s. The confidence the woman on the cover held drew Harley in. There was something about her perfect complexion, her fashionably flirtatious smile dancing on red lips... Yes, Harley would _definitely_ describe the woman as “picturesque”. 

She found herself still humming happily as she clicked the vacuum off. As her fingers grazed the handle of the Hoover, Harley found the suddenly quiet air being pierced by the horrible ringing of the doorbell. 

The noise rang out once, then twice. The third, horrible, assault on her ears came quickly and Harley knew who was on the other side of the door. The vacuum quickly fell to the floor as the blonde padded her bare feet over the plush carpet and towards the heavy wooden door. 

Harley reached for the golden knob before opting to run her hands over the front of her skirt, straightening out the pleats. Despite knowing who stood on the opposite side of the doorframe, Harley felt it only appropriate to make sure she gave her guest a sight – especially since she missed... No, that isn’t important. What did it even matter? It didn’t. 

Slim fingers made their way through blonde waves, set perfectly on either side of Harley’s head before swinging open the large, white door. 

Barbara Gordon was always a sight for sore eyes. Her round, freckled cheeks turned up as she flashed Harley a sweet, pearly smile. Her emerald eyes always glistening behind her tortoiseshell cat-eye frames, that somehow, seemed to only accentuate her features. Harley knew she couldn’t stay mad at her friend – especially when she stood on her front stoop looking like that... But pretending was fun. 

The young woman’s curled ginger hair held a new, adorable, yellow headband. One that matched the color of her short sleeved button-down, a perfectly oversized bow tied just at the collar. Her purple skirt met her shirt at her model waist, showing off her body in the most modest way possible. 

“Hey, good lookin’,” the woman extended her hands, presenting Harley with a pineapple upside-down cake on a platter. A cute pout playing on her lips.   
“Whatcha got cookin’?”, a smile grew from her pout. 

No fair. 

Harley felt her hips jut out, her hands moving to either side of her waist, trying to look as unamused as possible. Though, the exchange was proving difficult. 

“Come on, Harley, you know I’m sorry!”, Babs wiggled a little as she spoke. The anticipation seemed to be killing her. 

Harley pouted slightly before she blew her bangs off of her forehead and swaying her hips playfully, her hands still resting on waist. 

“Whatta shame, Babs. It was a real nifty time.”, her accent slipped through her false bravado. 

Harley backed out of the doorway before waving her friend in, her eyes never leaving the cake in her hands. Her favorite. Of course, Barbara knew that. 

The blonde watched out of her peripheral as Babs eyed the Hoover near the sofa and quickly kicked her saddle oxfords off near the door. Her socked feet following Harley through the living room and into the kitchen in silence. 

There was no doubt that the kitchen was bright. Maybe even a mirror of Harley’s personality. She was no chef, but she knew this was her domain. The refrigerator and countertop shone a sparkling bubblegum pink, Harley’s favorite color. The cabinets wearing a perfect, eggshell white – matching the walls – the doors and drawer faces as blue as the sky on a spring day. 

The kitchen was the only room she knew she’d ever have full control of and she also knew she took advantage of that fact. A reflection of a different Harley, a different time. Maybe a time when she was in control. When dreams of higher education, being a career woman, were still alive. Maybe a time when she didn’t dream of “what could have been’s”. 

The clatter of Barbara sliding the cake platter over the countertop pulled Harley from her thoughts. 

“Coffee?”, the blonde asked, though she already knew the answer – already moving to pick up the metal carafe from the stovetop. 

“Oh, bless your heart”, Babs half-mocked, her signature grin showing itself once again. 

Barbara moved to the drawers, her familiarity with the house showing. The sound of metal clanking until she found her target – a large cake knife. 

Harley half laughed, her tongue stuck out of her mouth, searching for mugs in the too-high-up cabinets. 

“I am _real_ sorry I missed your bash.” 

“It wasn’t a _bash_ ”, Harley found herself saying as her fingers finally grazed porcelain. 

“Still...”, the words quiet now, barely heard through the slamming of a drawer. 

“It was just a little dinner party... It’s cool, Babs”, Harley let herself smile, a genuine smile as she moved to pour coffee into the tinted glass mugs. “It was a blast though...” 

Her blue eyes looked down into the black liquid, the smell offering an escape – even if only for a moment. A happier memory laid in the bottom of that mug. The memory of diners and a cheap cup o’ joe, a man who was once upon a time a sweetheart and not a stern hand forcing her through normalcy. 

“I heard!”, the woman’s kind voice steadied Harley. It always did. The blonde brought her mint mug over to Babs and sat it gently in front of her. 

Green eyes watched Harley open and dig through the drawer in the kitchen island. The drawer forbidden to small hands and curious little eyes. 

Finding her target, Harley huffed, “Ah hah!” 

A metal cigarette case. A proper host always shares. She swung open the small latch and held it towards Barbara, who, despite not being a smoker, took one. She always does. It’s the polite thing to do. That’s Babs. Always upstanding. Proper. Polite. Even despite herself. 

Harley gently pulled out a cigarette, before throwing the case back into the drawer and pulling out a small, silver, metal lighter from the same drawer. Harley held her slim arm out, lighting Barbara’s smoke before her own. 

A small cloud bellowed from her mouth and nose on the first drawl, waiting on her friend’s sure-to-come explanation. Leaning against the counter, Harley found her elbows resting against the countertop in a surely unladylike fashion, lit cigarette between her lips. 

“Dick found a mint lead on a case he’s working on and I just had to tag along”, one puff, exhale. “I don’t want to be at the library forever, you know that.” 

“Babs, I told you it’s -” 

“- No, it’s not.” 

All Harley could do was sigh. She knew what came next. 

“...I know how he gets. I wanted to be here.” 

“It went off without a hitch, seriously”, she half laughed, bringing forward that faux bravado she had mastered. The air of “everything is perfect, can’t you understand that?” filling the kitchen. Cigarette between her lips, she leans up to straighten her pink skirt again. A nervous habit or maybe just a regular ol’ habit by now. 

At what point do bad habits, nervous habits, become just habits? A question Harley has mused several times over. At what point do you stop blaming nerves for staying - for playing with your skirts when faced with confrontation? For covering bruises with long sleeve blouses?   
At what point do you realize that a man’s bad habit is your reality. Harley knew that her reality was no one’s dream, but it was hers, and no one could take that from her. Fear be damned. 

“I know ya did”, Harley offered weakly as she moved the large ashtray from next to the sink to the counter next to the cake. 

“Whatcha waitin’ on? Cut this damn cake!”, a smile on pink lips as she flicks her cigarette. “Ya know that’s my favorite!” 

Babs smile couldn’t be ignored even if it deserved to be. A knowing, kind, look was always there, comforting Harley in the toughest times. She knew from “go” that this was her person – her best friend. From scrapped knees on the gravel in their driveways to wedding plans... No, there would never be another Barbara Gordon – Harley knew that for damn sure. 

“Where’s the ankle bitter?” 

“Out with Jay”, Harley finds herself saying as she grabbed plates from the cabinet and two forks from the drawer below. “He owed Lucy some one-on-one time. That man’s been wet rag lately. Always working late.” 

“Hmm”, Babs hummed knowingly, but not willing to say it. Dammit, no one wanted to say it. Not even Harley. Especially not Harley. 

No one stays late selling insurance... Not in this town, not unless they have a nice, new, young secretary to share a bourbon with, that is. 

Harley hadn’t been too keen on the idea of Jay hiring that Ms. Kaye... Too young and too pretty for comfort is what Harley might would say if she were a few years younger, dumber; but she knew that wasn’t on Alexis. 

No, Alexis was just there at the right time, an opportunity ripe for the taking. Harleen was no fool, she knew what those late nights were filled with. It was hard to ignore, especially when Jay came home, whiskey on his breath and unrecognizable perfume lingering on his neck. 

She only asked once. Harley saw red when he walked through the door, reeking of alcohol and the most expensive perfume Macy’s offered. The memory of Jay’s open palm against her hot face served well as a reminder to not ask again. To not be bothered by late nights and the sound of her husband stumbling through the door half-drunk on a Wednesday night, their young daughter asleep down the hall – Harley only pretending to sleep as he stripped his trousers and shirt and flopped into their shared bed. Her tears stopped staining her pillow long ago. 

The situation was only made worse by the fact that the entire neighborhood seemed to know of her husband’s late-night activities in his office. Alexis was young. Barely twenty-one and quick to talk. Hell, she seemed to _enjoy_ the talk, really. 

Well, ya know how rumors go – traveling quickly through the grapevine like a snake slipping down branches and begging you to eat an apple... Offering you knowledge you’d much prefer to forget. 

_Clink~_

Her fork hit the glass under the cake as she split through pineapple. 

As if on cue, the sound of the door clicking open, followed by joyous laughter. 

“ _Maaaaa!_ ”, Lucy’s small frame came barreling into the kitchen, her socked feet sliding across the tiles, a brand-new doll in her hand. 

The dolls porcelain head bopping as Lucy jumped up and down at Harley’s legs. 

“Ma! We – _we_ – me an’ daddy wen’ ta the park!”, Harley reached down to pat Lucy’s strawberry blonde hair – now a tangled mess. The pin holding back part of her strands long gone, surely finding a new home in the freshly cut grass under the trees in the park. 

Harley squatted down to Lucy’s level, tapping her nose gently with a finger. 

“Where’d my lil’ curtain climber find this fun new dolly?”, Harley reached out to gingerly take the new doll into her own hands. A small, padded body, a heavy glass head. A clown. Harley couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Its bright blue eyes painted stiffly in place, red hearts on both ghost white cheeks. A round, red, nose sitting comically in the center of its large head. 

Lucy’s small hands reached out to take the doll back, squishing its plush body in her fingers. Harley’s peripheral picked up the sight of her husband in the doorway, leaning against the frame leading into the kitchen, no doubt eyeing her, and the situation, up and down. 

_The vacuuming wasn’t finished._

“W-we wen’ ta the park!”, Lucy stuttered through her sentence, the 5-year-old still running on adrenaline from her day. “Daddy’s fren’ gave it ta me!” 

Harley felt her eyebrows go down; her eyes narrow. 

“Daddy’s friend, _huh_?” 

Harley turned to look at Jay for the first time. His slim body still leaning against the door frame, now reaching into his inside jacket pocket, searching for a smoke. He didn’t blink at Harley, his dark eyes only boring into her baby blues. He slid his cigarette between his lips and lit it quickly before removing it with two fingers and offering a sickeningly sweet smile to the woman. His black hair was slightly disheveled, not keeping with the slicked back position that he left with. His tie loose around his neck. 

“Heya, _Babs_ ”, the man finally spoke after inhaling nicotine. 

Barbara didn’t offer greetings back, just a glance, before crushing her, not even, half smoked cigarette into the ashtray. 

“Sweetheart, I have to cut out – hate to be a party pooper, but Dick will be home from work soon.” 

“O-oh!”, Harley pulled herself from her position in front of Lucy. “Don’t be a stranger, Barbara... _Please_.” 

Harley felt Babs reach out, giving her hand a slight squeeze. The woman’s soft hands pinching her wedding band around her skin as she offered a gentle grasp, Barbara’s comforting smile erasing the stinging from her mind. It’s a smile that Harley had come to love. That brought her comfort. 

If you had told her back in her younger days that this goodie-two-shoes woulda stuck around this long, she’d have had a good laugh – but she did. Babs stayed, she always stayed. 

“See you around munchkin!”, Barbara opened her arms, letting Lucy run into them briefly. 

“Seeya Auntie Babs!” 

“What do we say?” 

“Catchya lay-der, daddy-o!”, Lucy bounced as she remembered their secret goodbye. 

“Catch ya later, munchkin”, Barbara released Lucy, allowing her to run back through the house, most likely ready to place her new doll in its home. 

Harley followed Barbara to the door, sliding past Jay on her way. His stiff form offered no comfort as her body touched his. 

No words needed to be spoken. The entire room knew. They all knew what friend Jay had met in the park that day with Lucy. They knew secrets that these walls held; wallpaper dripping in words that didn’t leave this house. Colored brightly, covering something left unsaid, bruises left hidden. Cuts from words still stinging in the back of her mind. No, they didn’t need to speak it into existence, it already _was_. 

Harley watched as Barbara slipped on her oxfords and lightly padded out the door. Harley’s hand on the heavy wood, about to close it behind her and whisper to that wallpaper one more time. The family telling it secrets that the world didn’t need to know quite yet... 

“ _Oh!"_ , Babs quickly turned on her heel, her purple skirt swaying hypnotically with her body. 

“Diana and I are thinking of gathering the ladies and heading over to say ‘hi’ to the new neighbor tomorrow! You should come with us.” 

“New neighbor?” 

“You haven’t noticed?”, Barbara raised an eyebrow in confusion and pointed with her thumb behind her without looking. The house that sat ‘for sale’ across the street was now lit up, sale sign gone, and a custom, pink ‘49 Packard Victoria convertible sitting pretty in the driveway. 

“ _Woah_. Whatta hot ride.” 

“Meet up tomorrow?” 

“Uh-”, Harley offered a glance back to Jay, Lucy hanging off of his arm, his eyes cold steel against Harley’s. “Y- _yes_! Let’s...say hello?”, she swallowed. “It’s the neighborly thing ta do, after all.” 

Harley knew her mind has been begging for distraction, her body aching to get out of this goddamned house – away from the wallpaper that whispers to her “ _they all know_ ”. Maybe a new friend was exactly what she needed. 

“What should I bring?” 


	2. good fences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The local Welcome Parade greet their new, mysterious, redheaded neighbor. Pie and casserole comes free with awkward small talk. 
> 
> Pamela Isley is unlike anything this town has seen before, that's for damn sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out the playlist!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ffIXnbK0ylYIIAOjFWdHW?si=FAjL46NXSWOWoKnKb8f5oQ

_Ding~_

“Dammit, dammit!”, the words spilled out of Harley's lips and through the thick smoke bellowing out of her pretty, pink O'Keefe and Merrit stove. 

“Ma!” 

“Sorry, baby!”, Harley smiled sweetly at her daughter, trying to cover her panic before turning her attention back to the burnt pie in her oven. “ _Dammit_ ”, a whisper this time. Blowing frantic strands of blonde out of her face, Harley moved to slide on her mitt. 

_Ding, ding, ding~_

The desperate ringing of the doorbell broke through the sound of the kitchen radio and made Harley groan as she dropped the pie pan between the spiral eyes of the stove. The burnt spots of the lattice pattern on top of her cherry pie mocking her. 

“I’ll get it!” 

Harley turned to tell Lucy to wait, but she was already gone – running full steam down the hall with bare feet. 

“ _Auntie!_ ” 

Harley knew who it was and that she was late. Hence the attack on the doorbell and her ears. 

Harley watched Babs turn the corner into the kitchen, Lucy hanging off her leg, wrinkling her skirt. Barbara’s eyes grew double their size before she released a gut punch of a laugh. 

“Okay - what _are_ you doing?” 

Harley looked down at her apron, covered in flour and cherry filling before glancing around her kitchen, looking much the same. Pieces of her blonde hair falling down into face as she searched for words. 

“Ma’s been a _bakinggg_ ”, Lucy sang happily. 

“Oh, I _see_ that”, the redhead laughed again. 

“Shut your trap, Babs.” 

“ _Ma!_ ” 

“Sorry, babygirl”, Harley glared at Barbara before mouthing the word “ _shut_ ” in her general direction with a hand motion to match. 

Harley felt heat rise to her cheeks, deciding it was best to just leave well enough alone as Barbara walked over to help untie her apron, her oxfords clacking across the linoleum tile. The heat didn’t leave her face as she felt Barbara’s fingers work the knot on her lower back. As quickly as it had started, the moment had passed, leaving the blonde flushed in its wake. 

Harley offered a small, “thank you” as her friend handed her the mess of fabric, letting her fold it up tightly, as to not make a bigger mess. 

“It’s not that bad, Harleen.” 

Harley eyed Babs carefully, watching her look intently at her creation, now discarded on the stove. 

“It’s pretty horrible, _Barbara_ ”, Harley could play the ‘full-name-game', too. 

“Harley, what is all this? Why are you _baking?_ ”, Barbara’s orange hair bobbing lightly as she spoke with her hands. 

“I just thought it’d be a nice way to welcome the new neighbor!” 

“By poisoning her?”, she said as she let out a hefty laugh, holding her stomach. 

“Get bent, Babs!” 

“ _MA!_ ”, Lucy huffed louder now. 

Harley laughed, bending down to meet Lucy’s blue eyes with her own. She looked at her daughter, tiny arms crossed. “Do ya hear the way your auntie is talking about my cookin’?” 

“Ya t-tol' me we _aren’t_ supposed ta lie!” 

Harley deadpanned, looking up to Babs, who struggled to hold in her laughter, biting her lip. 

“I’m gonna make daddy cook all your meals from now on.” 

“No! _Ick_!”, Lucy’s tongue came out in mock disgust. 

After much consideration, Harley decided to bring the pie - scraping some of the darker parts off of the top. It wasn’t _so_ bad, better than arriving to someone’s door empty handed, anyway. 

Harley slipped her bright red tweed jacket on. The color matched her swing dress almost exactly – peter pan collar peeking through her open coat. She quickly motioned for Lucy, who bounced, both feet at a time, towards her. 

“You have to start wearing a jacket, Babs”, she spoke as she took a smaller peacoat from the coat rack before sliding it onto her daughter’s arms. 

“It’s not even cold, yet!” 

“It’s October!” 

“ _Psssh_ ”, Barbara waved her hand dramatically. “You know I’m going to hold onto summer for as long as I can. Besides! I wore long sleeves”, now holding her arms out dramatically and emulating a model from a magazine. 

“Ma! _Ma_! Can we take Art-hurr?”, Lucy’s arms opened and the ‘gimme hands’ came out. 

Barbara’s eyebrow shot up before looking at Harley to mouth “who”. Harley rolled her bright eyes, drumming out a small sigh. 

“Hurry”, Harley’s “mom voice” didn’t come out often, but it was out now. 

“Who the Hell is ‘Arthur’?”, Babs laughed out. 

“That damn clown”, Harley mumbled as she distracted herself with the buttons on her coat. “ _Lucy_! Let’s go!” 

The air was bitter. Maybe not quite cold enough for a jacket, but crisp enough to send a chill down Harley’s back as she opened the front door. The late October wind whipped around them as the small group of three walk to the end of the driveway, Lucy huddled closely between her mother and Barbara. 

The heat hanging onto the glass pie pan warmed Harley’s chilled fingers, the heels of her flats clicking gently on the pavement. 

Diana Prince, in all her glory, stood at the end of her drive where the pavement met the sidewalk. Her gorgeous black hair was held in place with a bright red silky scarf – tied just-so, above her voluptuous straight cut bangs. Even with her star-spangled apron still on, Diana could have been a model on one of Harley’s magazine covers. 

“Well, Diana! Aren’t ya just as pretty as a picture?”, Harley's chipper voice wavered against the chill. 

Diana wasted no time, turning around quickly and allowing her blue and red apron to move against the breeze. Harley found her gaze lingering too long on Diana’s exposed thighs. The wind caught her skirt just enough to make sure Harleen was flushed as she made her way down the driveway. 

“Harleen”, Diana’s voice was just so _her_. It flowed out of her lips like butter; smooth. “I’m so glad you decided to join in on the fun!” 

Harley couldn’t help but let out a small giggle. Was Diana the only person on Earth that Harley would allow to call her _Harleen_ ? Yes. Did that visibly annoy Babs? Yes. Was the pain of hearing her name on full display worth the look on her friend’s face? _Definitely_. 

“No casserole, Barbara?”, Diana’s words stung at Barbara, even if unintentionally. Babs hadn’t brought a casserole. Hell, she didn’t even offer a store-bought dessert. Instead, Barbara had opted to bring a book. 

_Fahrenheit 451_. 

She had mentioned the novel several times when speaking with Harley – though, she never read it. Babs knew that Harley didn’t have time to read – or the desire. Barbara had let Harley know that the lack of _want_ to read was rather “ironic” given the nature of the book. 

Babs would never bring a casserole when she could, instead, bring knowledge. That was her way. That was what Harley loved about her – even if the blonde didn’t disappear into those pages. She often found that the world was cold enough. There was no need to fantasize about made-up dystopian worlds when her days were already filled with secrets that hid in nooks and crannies of dark rooms. 

“No, Diana”, Barbara smiled, taking a moment to close her emerald eyes as the sun peeked from behind grey autumn clouds. “I thought between the two of you, our new neighbor would be full of patriotic cherry pie and good ol’ all American hamburger bake.” 

Harley let herself laugh out loud at her friend’s words. Barbara had always been a smart ass, that was common knowledge – but to hear Babs go round with Miss American Pie herself was too good. 

Barbara took sympathy on Diana, finally smiling sweetly, “I just thought it might be a nice change of pace, is all.” 

Diana nodded before taking the first step off of the curb, leading the charge across the street. Harley grasped the bottom of her, now less warm, pie pan before gesturing to Lucy with a quick nod of her head; seemingly saying “let’s hit it” without words. 

The trio clacked their way across the black pavement, moving like soldiers marching into war. Their mission clear and worthy. Lucy quickly shuffled behind, Arthur in hand – the doll’s head bobbing side to side with each sloppy step. 

Harley always hated this part. The awkward “hellos” and small talk. The façade of “I’d love to come to your Christmas party!” sang gayly to the tune of “even though I’m Jewish” in her head. Fuck it, she liked the lights and tinsel anyway. 

Maybe what Harley actually hated was the fake connection that came with each greeting. The plastic smiles and expertly pleated skirts swallowing up any type of softness, any human touch. Everyone wore their faces differently, sure – but no one seemed to wear anything genuine. 

The pink ‘49 Packard set lookin’ pretty on the distressed driveway. The years of chalk and play from the Anderson children sucked into the cracks, now sprouting small green patches of nature. No one knew why they packed it up and left. Mr. Anderson said they were heading to California, though no one could tell you why. Other, nastier rumors, said that he had been sleeping with their nanny and Mrs. Anderson had drug him out of town on a short leash. Harley wondered if those rumors had something to do with Annette not being able to find work on their street anymore... She wondered more if it had something to do with the color of her skin rather than the rumors that shrouded the woman. 

Harley’s blue eyes moved to freshly built planters on either side of the front steps. Raw wood, yet to be stained or painted, surrounded by newly purchased bags of potting soil. Maybe the new neighbor's husband was handy with a saw. The blonde’s mind wandered, curious about what types of plants would grow in the cool Fall weather. 

Nothing ever grew in the cold. The cold is where green things went to die. Death at the hands of bitter air as the leaves died and turned to dust. Vibrance gone in the grasp of grey. 

“ _Umf_ _!_ ”, Lucy’s small noise knocked Harley back to the present as her daughter walked abruptly into her from behind. The women had stopped at the bottom of the stoop, standing in a row with Lucy now holding onto the bottom of her mother’s jacket with one hand; Aruther held firmly to her chest with the other. 

The women looked at one another quickly. Barbara’s eyebrows raised before shaking her head side to side. 

“No. Absolutely not”, she whispered harshly before leaning further into the huddle of women. She squeezed the paperback novel to her chest with both hands. “Not it!” 

Diana straightened up, leaning back and out of the huddle just a bit, “Well, I went first with the Millers in June.” Her sentence did not leave room for discussion. 

Harley glanced back to Lucy, still holding onto her red, tweed coat tails. The little girl offered her mother her best grin before bouncing up and down, obviously knowing what the exchange meant. 

“Ma’s turn!”, the little girl’s eager bouncing continued as she spoke. 

Harley turned to look at Diana, as if to plead for her mercy. Her baby blues met Diana’s warm brown eyes. Despite her “take no shit” attitude, and the fact that she was always on the stick, Diana had always treated Harley and her family warmly. That warmth was clearly not going to be extended to this moment, unfortunately. 

Harley huffed, blowing her bangs out of her face and puffing her cheeks before exhaling, “Get ready, ladies! New friend incoming.” 

She took a look at her daughter and gave a large, white grin, trying to build her own confidence in the moment. 

The small heels of her flats clicked against the concrete of the first step. It’s not so bad, she wanted this. Harley needed to meet more women, gain some companionship. Spend some time with friends, take up a book club. Well, maybe _not_ a book club – but _something_. 

Her glossy black flats clacked up to the second step and finally the third. Lucy stuck at her heels. Harley could feel her daughter against the back of her thighs trying to find some relief from another chilly breeze. 

Harley moved her pie pan to her left hand, bracing it against her hip and raised her lithe fingers to the door. Before her pale fist could make contact with the slab of oak – the sound of the door unlocking and a loud creak rang out. 

“Uhm, hello?” 

In the doorway stood a woman – undoubtedly their new neighbor. She wore a quirked eyebrow and a smirk played on her full red-painted lips. Her dark red hair full and thick, pinned back on either side of head. Her auburn locks seemed to glow as the sun peeked around the dark clouds above. Harley’s eyes darted from her hair to her lips, before landing on her eyes. Radiant and full of depth. A forest of inquisitive and vivid green. 

A small chuckle escaped the woman’s mouth as she casually leaned against the doorframe. Her hands moved into the pockets of her high-waisted, flannel trousers. The grey material hugged the woman’s hips in a way that could only be described as sinful. Her white blouse tucked into them loosely, the buttons stopping too low for Harleen’s comfort. Heat rose to her neck and face, moving up her ears, as she noticed light freckles seemingly sprinkled about the woman’s exposed skin. 

Blue eyes shot up to meet green. Unwavering, looking into her with steadfast curiosity. 

She hissed out, “ _Dammit.”_

T he words slipped through Harley’s pink lips and into the cold air. The woman in front of her smiled slightly, her smirk growing as she released a small chuckle. 

“Ma!” 

Lucy tugged on her mother’s coat and stomped over to her side; her cheeks puffed out, Arthur in her balled fist. Harley gaped, looking down to Lucy before frantically looking back to her new neighbor, still leaning against the doorframe, now full-on smiling. Harley felt her stomach flip at the sight. 

_There was no time for this._

Harley extended the pie pan out to her neighbor in a light-hearted manner now putting her own grin on full display. 

“Heya, neighbor!”, Harley tried her best to not fall victim to the woman’s casual nature or knowing smirk. 

“Well, hello”, the woman spoke as she pushed herself off of the doorframe to stand straight, her hands still in her pockets. 

There are those eyes again. A deep olive that looked back at her with something gentle, delicate. 

The sound of forced coughing came from behind Harley. She turned to see her friends standing below the final step, waiting for their turn to say ‘hello’. 

“Oh! Oh! These gals are my two main squeezes”, she winked playfully as she spoke. “Babs and Diana.” 

She turned quickly, her skirt twirling under her jacket as she faced the other two women. 

Barbara took her cue, coming up the steps quickly and extending her hand to the woman. 

“Barbara Gordon”, the redhead removed a hand from her pants pocket and grasped Barbara’s hand gently, giving it a shake. 

“Pamela Isley.” 

So, the new neighbor did have a name. 

Barbara spoke again as she released Pamela’s hand, “And this is Diana Prince.” 

She moved to the side allowing Diana to walk up, her red heels clacking with each confident step. 

Diana moved forward and pushed her hamburger bake forward with a kind smile. 

“And this is what?”, Pamela spoke, still clearly amused by the entire ridiculous exchange. “The welcome parade?” 

Diana now spoke, “That’s exactly what it is. Welcome to the neighborhood.”   
Pamela reached out to take the casserole dish from Diana, looking down at it and failing to hide the confusion and revulsion on her face. Harley watched as Diana looked Pamela up and down, hesitating on her trousers and bare feet and tilting her head slightly at the woman’s low buttoned shirt. 

Harley took her chance to extend the pie to Pamela yet again. The redhead reached out with her free hand to take it. Harley shuddered as she felt warm fingertips graze the back of her hand before slipping the pie pan away from the blonde. Harley felt her mouth open slightly before she bit down on her bottom lip. 

“And what do they call you, doll?”, Pamela eyebrows raised slightly as the pet name fell out of her mouth. Harley felt her mouth go dry and her stomach drop. 

_What the hell is happening?_

“Call me Harley – everyone does!” 

“Well, Harley, who’s the kiddo?”, Pamela held both dishes in her hands as she leaned down to great the child leaning against Harley’s backside. 

Lucy, never one to ignore attention, slipped out from behind her mother. “N-name’s Lucy!” 

“Lucy. I dig that clown”, she smiled as Lucy hugged her toy. 

“T-tanks”, the small girl held it up, making Arthur’s arms wiggle and his head flop. “Daddy’s fren gave ‘em ta-”   
“It really has been a blast, but I think it’s time we split!”, Babs sang out in her best ‘everything is fine’ voice. “Sorry, I didn’t bring any food. But I did bring a book, if you’re interested.” Barbara held out the novel she had decided on, reaching it out to Pamela. 

Pamela stood up straight again and took the book from Barbara’s hand. 

“ _Fahrenheit 451_ . Great choice”, she smiled down at Babs. “Have you read _Nineteen Eighty-Four_. Orwell.” 

Their voices muffled against her ears as she watched the exchange with bright eyes. Barbara spoke easily, going on about some old man and surveillance. Harley felt s _omething_ boiling up in her chest. She listened to her best friend speak to Pamela with ease. A common interest. She felt a beast welling up inside of her. Bubbling over and pulling on her heart strings. Her throat dry, her ears hot and the unnerving need to _get out_ and to take Barbara with her. To get her away from this woman. 

_Why_ _?_

“We really should be going. Jay will be home soon”, Harley knew she was interrupting, but she couldn’t find the will to care. 

“Your husband?”, Pamela asked directly, resting her newly given dishes against her hip. 

“Yes”, she wrapped her arm around Lucy, pulling the little girl in close for warmth and comfort. 

“Shame.” 

Harley swallowed, not sure what to think of the redhead’s statement in the moment. Did she know? Did everyone know? Would she ever get a moment of reprieve from the guilt that held onto her? How could this woman possibly know already...? 

“You’re not married?”, Diana’s voice cut through the awkward silence. Her arms crossed over her chest. 

Pamela released a small laugh, no doubt taken aback from the directness of Diana’s question. 

“No, ma’am”, she started, shifting her weight from one hip to the other. “I think I’ll be keeping it that way, too.” 

Harley caught Pamela’s gaze. There was no shame in her statement. No resentment or embarrassment dancing on her tongue. She offers no apology or explanation. Just walking through life – through Harley’s life – without restraint. Not held down by any firm hands, no harsh words spitting venom and no wallpaper to slip secrets to her neighbors. 

“Really nice pad, Pam”, Barbara interjected. She was always good at reading the room, that one. 

Pamela nodded, backing further into the house and placing her hand on the doorknob. 

“Again, welcome to the neighborhood, Pamela”, Diana clicked her heels back down the stoop, ready to make her exit. 

Harley’s hands found the edge of her jacket, mindlessly fiddling with a black button. Something about being close to Pamela felt _good_. Despite only having just laid eyes on the woman, Harley would have sworn they had met before. Something about her just felt so familiar. 

Harleen’s eyes made their way across Pamela’s fingers as they grasped the knob of her front door. Her nails were short, well-manicured. Her fingers were slim and long, matching her frame. 

“Don’t be a stranger, Harley”, Pam’s voice was unlike anything Harley had heard before. Somewhere between sultry and soft. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Red.” 


	3. good neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumors fly - speculating about the love life of the new neighbor in town. Can a broken family still love?
> 
> Harley might need to invest in some blinds for her living room window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope y'all like this one!~
> 
> as always, playlist below
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ffIXnbK0ylYIIAOjFWdHW?si=FAjL46NXSWOWoKnKb8f5oQ

“It’s a little odd ball if you ask me.” 

Harley rounded the corner of the aisle, passing produce and grabbing a fresh peach as she paused her shopping cart. She’d be lying if she said her ears hadn’t perked up at the sound of Mrs. Page’s voice echoing from the deli. 

“Riding around town in that car... Yes, yes – exactly.” 

The blonde sloppily bent over the handle of the shopping cart. Leaning into the metal of the bar ached the growing bruise on her rib. She winced remembering last night. A stream of hot, salty tears and calloused knuckles. 

“...and not a man in sight.” 

“It’s 1954, Linda – don't have a cow.” 

“Vicki, what about that woman who comes and goes all hours of the day and night?” 

Despite the tinge of hot pain in her ribs, Harley leaned further into the bar – trying to get her ears as close to the conversation as possible. 

“I thought Ms. Kyle was going steady with that Bruce Wayne.” 

“Dick’s partner?” 

“I swear I saw Wayne and Kyle out at Becky’s Diner on Saturday. They looked pretty cozy.” 

Harley clacked her heels away from the whispers of rumors, pushing her cart in a haze of misty thoughts. The yellow shine of the overhead lights reflected off of the red and white checkered tile. The bright colors become muddied under the flicker. 

A woman with another woman? The thought seemed like a rare moment, something pushed down and held close to the chest. A secret whisper that Harley would only let cross her ear in the dead of night. A small thought that found its way to her half-asleep dreams as she lay in bed next to a man who hadn’t touched her with love, tenderness, in years. 

Harleen slipped her way into the first available checkout lane. The bagboy approached, as he always did, to unload her shopping cart. She smiled and listened to his small talk, but her mind was still somewhere between wanton, sleepy, half-dreams of soft fingertips and breathy kisses from pouting lips. Could such a touch exist in a world filled to the brim with such whispered judgments? 

* * *

Lucy’s voice ran through the front of the house as soon as the front door swung open. 

“ _Ma! Ma!”_

Barbara Gordon fell close to the little girl’s heels as the pair trotted into the kitchen. 

“Babs, thanks again for playin’ with our li’l rug rat”, Harley looked up to Babs. The woman stood smiling in her kitchen, flushed from the October air. Barbara’s freckled cheeks lifted into a bigger grin when her eyes met Harley’s. The blonde felt her stomach knot lightly. Just a small jump. “I really appreciate it.” 

Harley felt Lucy hug her thighs together with her small arms but Barbara was already picking up brown grocery bags with one hand, her other digging through one of the paper bags. 

“ _Ah_ ”, Babs whispered as she found her target – a shiny red apple. She moved the apple to her mouth, biting into it and holding it with her teeth. The woman looked to Harley and smiled, despite the fruit in her mouth, closing her eyes behind her cat-eyed glasses. 

Harley reached to take one of the bags from the woman’s hands. 

“ _Umf_.” 

Harley looked down to witness Lucy attempting to lift a bag on her own. Her cheeks filled with air as struggled with the parcel holding two glass bottles of milk. Her mother laughed to herself before leaning down to take out one of the glass bottles. She handed the bottle to her daughter who happily took it and walked over to the pink refrigerator and plopped it in its home. 

“Babs”, Harley began, stopping to lean against the counter. 

“Hmmf?”, Barbara mumbled through her apple before taking a large chunk out of it and removing it from her mouth. 

The blonde’s hands moved to remove her cardigan, folding it neatly before haphazardly throwing it onto the counter. Her fingers found her skirt’s waistband, fidgeting with the fabric. 

“I heard some real _interestin_ _’_ things over at the supermarket”, Harley faked checking the tuck of her shirt. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah”, the woman spoke softly, trailing off. She recalled Linda Page’s voice, whispering about Pamela from the deli. 

“You know how those wome-” 

“About Pamela.” 

Barbara stopped moving, opting to lean against the counter. Her hand found her skirt’s pocket, her other held her apple, taking the final bite and discarding the core into the bin under the countertop. 

Harley took a deep breath before closing her eyes briefly, “They are saying she’s -” 

“I know what they are saying.” 

“You don’t think it’s odd?” 

“Do you?” 

Harley imitated her daughter, blowing air into her cheeks and crossing her arms across her chest. “Babs... I -” 

“Ma! _Ma!_ ”, small hands found Harley’s skirt, yanking on the fabric. 

Barbara seized the opportunity to bounce off of the counter and move to put more groceries in their designated homes. She moved swiftly through the kitchen, muscle memory kicking in as she opened cabinets and drawers. 

“Ma, I – I wanna b-be uh, uh ghostie!”, the girl spoke as she tugged her mother’s skirt rhythmically. “Fer Halla-ween!” 

“Oh, Luce, I thought you might want to be a clown”, she bent down to “boop” her daughter gently on her small button nose. 

“I wan’ you to be Art-hurr, Ma”, Lucy buried her face into her mother’s skirt contentedly. “H-he’s my fav-o-rite.” 

“I know, babygirl”, she ran her thin fingers through her daughter's strawberry blonde locks and offered a smile in her friend’s direction. “Is this because auntie let you watch _Casper_?” 

Lucy’s muffled giggle was the only response she offered before bouncing off to the living room to roll about on the plush carpet with her favorite clown. 

“Are you going to dress up to take her around then?”, Barbara leaned against the counter one more time as she spoke. Her smile told Harley she already knew the answer. 

“O’course I’m gonna put on that big, red, Bozo nose an’ ring some doorbells”, Harley laughed as reached into her _mommies only_ drawer. 

Out came the gleam of her metal cigarette case – glowing under the shine of her kitchen bulbs and offering a moment of peace amongst her busy thoughts. She always did love a good smoke before Jay came home from work. A moment of quiet before the storm. 

“I think you’re doing a swell job, Harls”, Babs paused as if thinking of her next words carefully. “You know... All things considered.” 

The flick of Harley’s lighter was the only noise in the silence of the kitchen. Her lungs filled with nicotine and smoke as the ember at the end of the cigarette burnt bright. 

“Have you thought anymore about what Dick said?”, Barbara’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Bruce told hi-” 

“I’m not interested in causin’ waves, Babs,” the blonde flicked her cigarette directly into the sink before turning on the cold water and flushing down the ashes. “An’ I ain’t thinkin’ about divorce or nothin’.” 

Barbara’s face dropped. Harley could have read the disappointment from a mile away. Her heart dropped as she reached out to hold Barbara’s hand. She felt her friend start to move away from her touch, but settled quickly under her lightly trembling fingers, letting Harley hold onto her hand loosely. 

“Babs”, she squeezed Barbara’s hand, trying to comfort her, or let her know that she understood... or something. She wasn’t sure what. “I promise, I’m okay.” 

The sound of jingling keys caused Harley to whip her hand away from Barbara as fast as lightning. Quickly bringing the women back to the reality of the situation around them. Lucy’s playful laughter ringing out “daddy’s home” at the noise of Jay stumbling into the door, sliding his jacketed form over the wood for stability. 

Bourbon air filled the room as he leaned against the doorway into the kitchen. Jay’s mouth twitched against his bent cigarette as he laid his dark eyes on Barbara. His tie draped his neck in a way that reminded Harley of a discarded blanket or cardigan, thrown on out of necessity and not for fashion. 

“Don’t you have your own house, Barbara?”, his voice was snide, demanding an answer to a question that he already knew the answer to. 

“Didn’t work end 2 hours ago?”, Barbara’s voice was blunt, unwavering. Her eyes steadied, burning directly into Jay’s. 

Silence. 

Harley's eyes watched her husband’s fists clench before stomping his way into the kitchen, his shoes squeaking against his wife’s perfectly mopped floor. His slender body pushed close between the women before smashing his wrinkled cigarette into the glass ashtray angrily. 

The blonde’s fingers found the pleats of her skirt, smoothing them out. Her chest tightened. Her blue eyes searched Jay’s for warmth, for home. Attempting to have a silent conversation with her husband. To beg him for peace in the moment. All that looked back at her was a set of dead glass. 

Harley’s peripheral watched as Barbara chewed the inside of her cheek. 

The thick tension fell across the group. In the silence Harley could swear she could hear her own heartbeat in her chest. There was no digging out of his hole. 

“I’m making meatloaf for dinner.” 

* * *

“Sweet dreams, darlin’”, Harley’s voice is quiet, muffled against the kiss she was placing on her daughter’s forehead. 

The shining flood of the streetlamp illuminated the floor of the room. Littered with small dolls and teddy bears set up for attack on the city of books on the girl’s hardwood floor. 

The room is full of love and softness. A hideaway just her own in a house that felt far from home. Harley often wondered if Lucy could read the room on bad days. Hell, they say kids are more observant than adults often realize. 

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite”, she whispered as she tickled her daughter lightly up the shoulders and neck and under her hair before tugging both her ears playfully. 

Sleepy giggles filled the room, the girl’s eyes already shut tight against her warm pillows. 

Harley’s fingers pulled the door knob quietly, shutting Lucy’s door shut with a silent “click”. The door is barely shut a moment before Jay finds his way off the hallway wall and onto Harleen like a drunken, grinning, hyena closing in on its prey. 

Her stomach dropped. The feeling from before dinner was back. 

The man’s hands are always so rough. Pulling and prodding her clothing, yanking down the neck of her dress and kissing the skin of her collarbone violently. Her mind muddied, wandering away from the moment. She could hardly remember a time when Jay’s touch was gentle, calm. When it hurt less. When it wouldn’t burn shame into her pale flesh with each forcible motion of his calloused hands and sharp teeth. 

“You embarrassed me earlier.” 

“I’m sorry?”, the question was genuine as it slipped from her lips. 

“I can’t believe you let your friend talk to me like that.” 

His teeth sunk into the nape of her neck as he finished his sentence, the smell of whiskey still lingering on him. Involuntarily, a hiss escaped her mouth, just loud enough for him to hear and throw his salty hand over her open lips. Harley can feel his sharp nose pushing against the skin of her neck – she feels her stomach turn at the touch. She could have sworn her skin was burning against his fingers as he drunkenly fumbled with the zipper of her dress. The nauseating smoke forcing her throat closed and silencing any “no's” deep down. There’s no comfort or love in his touch as he pushes against her. Harley’s no fool, she knows she’s just a body, there in the moment – there for the taking. Was there ever a home in these moments or just the girlish fantasy of a Hollywood bad boy scooping her up and taking her in his strong arms? 

The cold wall of the hallway sends a shiver up her, now, exposed back – she sees black for a moment. 

Is this how Alexis feels when Jay touches her? Does she enjoy his venomous teeth and insistent hands? Harley wretches internally at the thought. 

* * *

“W-why yes, Mistah Art-hurr", Lucy’s voice pitched against her childish accent as she put her best Audrey Hepburn voice. “Y-you may have dis duh-ants, sir.” 

Harley smiled to herself as she listened to her little one stutter her way through an imaginary scene with her clown – humming a loose tune the entire time. The young mother smiled at the sound of her daughter's play as she rustled to the next page of her magazine. 

_“...With a new drug to unlock the door, scientists are entering at will the benighted land where the insane dwell...”_

Harley couldn’t help her eyes from wandering towards the bay window next to her chair. Those damn wooden boxes taking up Pamela’s yard eyed her back as she tilted her head to the side. At least they are finally stained and sealed. Much better than the raw 4x4’s that had adorned either side of the woman’s stoop. 

What the hell kind of plants even grow in the cold? 

_“..._ _Experience the sights, sounds and emotions that plague..._ _”_

And what the hell kind of woman crafts her own damn planters, anyway? 

Harley continued to look at the square frames now filled with soil. Pamela was that type of woman, she guessed. The type of woman who’d measure out and cut her own planters. The type of woman who wouldn’t care to avoid the stares of the Gotham women who stared her up and down in that pink convertible as she ran her errands. The type of woman who’d... lay next to another woman? Was there any truth to what Linda and Vicki were gossiping about that day at Bargain City? 

_“...Populating 700 mental hospitals throughout the country are 300,000 victims of schizophrenia-men, women and children. Some sit silently, staring vacantly into space...”_

Could Pamela be _that_ sort of woman? Harley’s thoughts had often lingered on attractive women on the covers of her magazines or on the posters for the features. She surely knew that talking about the warmth she felt in her stomach when she looked into Pamela’s green eyes wasn’t _traditionally_ normal – but what could it be like to feel soft hands on her skin? To have slim fingers interlocked with hers, sweet lips on her cheek. Would Linda spread rumors about her next to Friday’s price-dropped, sliced, ham? 

The movement of Pamela’s front door flying open sucked Harley’s attention from the dirt-filled boxes and from her musings. 

Sunlight seemed to sense Pamela’s presence as she made her way onto her steps, emerging from the clouds to greet her. The light wrapped around her red hair – sloppily pinned to the top of her head. The woman’s well-worn blue jeans set high on her waist and rolled enough at the ankle for the woman to see a dirty pair of Chucks on her feet. Harley felt herself flush as Pamela reached up to adjust her loose strands of hair. Crystal blue eyes watched intently as Pam’s white shirt pulled up from her perfect tuck and as her rolled sleeves fell lazily down her lightly toned biceps. 

Heat moved to Harley’s ears as she perked up, watching the woman move with deliberation. She found the edge of her seat, shutting her magazine swiftly, not trying to keep her spot to pick up later. 

A small metal shovel and gardening hoe emerged from _somewhere_ before Harley watched the woman disappear into her backyard. 

Harley felt her body deflate, slumping slightly before tossing her _Look_ magazine onto the wooden coffee table. 

Before her feet could hit the carpet to pull herself out of the chair, Harleen’s peripheral caught a blur of red and white moving back into the front yard – several small, plastic potted plants in her arms. 

Each pot held several small green stems, drooping over. A small white flower pointed downwards at the tip. Harley wasn’t sure what plant the woman held; she had definitely never seen anything like it. 

The woman turned slightly to get a better look at her newfound entertainment. She watched the woman drop to her denim clad knees, digging out homes for each small pot of flowers. The process seemed painfully slow for Pamela, but was going by much too quickly for Harley. 

As sweat pooled and gathered onto Pamela’s white t-shirt, wayward strands of red sticking to her slim neck – Harley was sure her heart was giving out. This was it. This is how she’d go. Watching her new neighbor dig holes in potting soil. 

Harley’s eyes bore into the back of Miss Isley’s white shirt. Now tinged with sweat from digging and just see-through enough to accent the woman’s toned muscles as her shoulders worked. Bending, digging, planting. 

If Pam had eyes in the back of her head, her timing couldn’t have been perfect – standing quickly and turning around. Harley’s eyes shot to green. A green deeper than any jungle or forest. Softer than the grassiest hill in Spring. 

A beat passed. Then another. 

Harley felt her chest tighten from the inside, her stomach flip as if it were being carried off by a wild dog. The entire exchange of blue and green seemed to go on for far too long. The woman’s eyes were kind, but strong. A look of determination seemed to flash from Pamela towards Harley and she felt warmth pool inside of her, moving from her face to her lower stomach. 

The warmth in Harley’s body was soon replaced by panic as she became aware that her and her brand-new neighbor were playing “chicken” with their eyes. She scrambled for her magazine once again, frantically flipping pages until something looked vaguely familiar. 

_“...For if it were simply a functional illness, like neurosis, how could we account for...”_

What if Pamela is that sort of woman? Would Harley be the sort of woman she’d go for? Why the hell would that even matter... 

_“...how could we account for the fact that some child psychiatrists point out...”_

She probably isn’t the sort of woman any woman would want to go with. A taken woman shouldn’t worry about the personal, intimate, lives of others anyway. Her train of thought was long gone. Oh, dammit. 

_“...Forifitweresimplyafunctionalillnesslikeneurosishowcouldweaccountforthefactthatsome...”_

Pamela seems like a lovely woman; she could have any man – or... _you know_ – that she wanted. So, why did that very idea seem to now be haunting Harley’s thoughts? 

Focus. 

_“...Forifitweresimplyafunctionalillnesslikeneurosishowcouldweaccountforthefactthatsomechildpsychiatristspointoutitsometimescropsupfull-blowninthefirstmonthsoflife...”_

As if saving her from herself, the doorbell rang out. Babs always did have excellent timing, especially when Harley needed quick distraction. 

“I’ll get it!”, Lucy shouted as she kicked off the floor and ran full-speed to the front door. 

Something isn't right, though. Only one ring of the bell. That’s wrong... 

Harley shook out her watch before checking her wrist. Too early for the library to be closed. Diana wouldn’t be stopping by at this time of day, right? 

The doorbell stayed silent. Whoever wait on the other side was more patient that Babs, that was for sure. 

Harley jumped up quickly, sloppily throwing her magazine onto the wooden coffee table with a skid. 

“Lucy, wai-“, the words stopped short as she rounded the corner, seeing red through the intricate wooden bars of their home’s entry way. 

The clicking of the wall clock seemed to slow down as blue met green once again, this time in her own home. 

Pamela Isley was at her door. 


	4. honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, you’re not auntie!” 
> 
> Pamela Isley’s red hair was the first thing Harley noticed. Stuck loosely to her head. Up close, she could see the sweat and fresh soil keeping some of the woman’s red sprigs stuck to her neck. 
> 
> The second thing Harley noticed was her smile, spreading across her peach lips as playful words slipped through them. 
> 
> “No, ma’am, I am not”, Pamela spoke as a small laugh escaped her mouth. 
> 
> Harley looked to Pamela as she spoke. The woman is tall, at least standing next to her daughter, and filthy. Her white t-shirt practically see-thru with sweat – even despite the cool Fall weather and the rigid temperature that Gotham generally kept. A pair of faded white gloves stuck sloppily out of her back pocket, stained with what could only be described as years of tough love and potting soil. Her denim clad knees were blotchy, smeared in grass and dirt. 
> 
> Harley suddenly felt her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth and her heart smacked against her chest cavity. 
> 
> “You.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delayed update!~
> 
> been busy with the holidays and in the midst of moving into a new home  
> _
> 
> playlist for the fic can be found here:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ffIXnbK0ylYIIAOjFWdHW?si=FAjL46NXSWOWoKnKb8f5oQ

“ _ Hey _ , you’re not auntie!”

Pamela Isley’s red hair was the first thing Harley noticed. Stuck loosely to her head. Up close, she could see the sweat and fresh soil keeping some of the woman’s red sprigs stuck to her neck. 

The second thing Harley noticed was her smile, spreading across her peach lips as playful words slipped through them.

“No, ma’am, I am not”, Pamela spoke as a small laugh escaped her mouth. 

Harley looked to Pamela as she spoke. The woman is tall, at least standing next to her daughter, and filthy. Her white t-shirt practically see-thru with sweat – even despite the cool Fall weather and the rigid temperature that Gotham generally kept. A pair of faded white gloves stuck sloppily out of her back pocket, stained with what could only be described as years of tough love and potting soil. Her denim clad knees were blotchy, smeared in grass and dirt. 

Harley suddenly felt her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth and her heart smacked against her chest cavity. 

“ _ You _ .”

The word escaped her as she bit her tongue instantaneously. The tone in which her voice let her speak was much harsher than the feeling behind the simple sentence. Harleen felt her face flush deeper than before. 

Pamela’s eyebrows raised at the statement. Harley couldn’t read her expression. Maybe somewhere between amusement, bewilderment and even a smidge of pain? 

The answer came as Pam clamped her teeth lightly onto her bottom lip. The action only lasted for a painful second before  _ that smirk  _ spread across her face again and she found her signature stance – leaning against the doorframe. Harley noticed that as Pam moved to put her shoulder against the doorway, she appeared to be keeping her hands kept to the left side of her back, out of sight. What was this woman up to – 

A laugh stayed stuck in the redhead’s chest as she  interrupted Harleen’s thoughts, “Well, hello to you, too.”

“Th-that’s not –  _ shit  _ -”

“ _ Ma _ _! _ ”

Defeat. If Harley had been a circus balloon, she would have deflated right there on the spot, leaving her clown companion crying  crocodile tears for an invisible audience. 

“That’s not what I meant - “

Harley found herself taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. Just be  _ normal _ . 

Her smile beamed as her crystal blue eyes, filled with new determination, met green yet again.  _ Shit _ , why does she have to look like that? Like a woman from a picture show? She could be on magazines. 

“I  –  _ just _ __ – well, what brings you to our neck of the woods?”

Quickly, Pamela moved to stand straight and away from the doorframe, before smoothly bringing her left hand from behind her back without saying a word. 

Harley’s clear, 9”, scalloped Pyrex pie plate sat in Miss Isley’s confident hands.

“I thought you might want this back.”

Harley’s tongue clicked against the inside of her mouth; one eyebrow raised in question. “You’re bringing me this? Right now?”

“Why not?”, the woman kept the pan outreached towards Harley.

“Well,  weren’tcha just  gardenin ’? It just seems a little...”, her sentence trailed off, though Harley couldn’t tell you where it disappeared to. Lost somewhere in long red locks and green eyes. Dirty blue jeans and stained white shirts. 

“Oh. How did you know I was gardening?”, it’s a challenge, not a question. Pamela already knew the answer. She knew long before she came knockin’ at Harley’s door with dirty gloves and faux-neighborly pie pan returns. 

Harley’s stomach turned into a jumble of knots. Something not even a well-traveled sailor could untie. She shoved the feeling away. Clearly Pamela didn’t understand that Harley wasn’t one to back down at the sight of a challenge.

“Would  ya like to come in for a cup of joe or  somethin ’?”, she stepped out of the door way as Lucy bounded back to the comfort of the living room and Arthur. Clearly bored with whatever adult talk she had been eavesdropping on moments before. Pyrex had yet to pull her into its clutches and baking dishes did little for the girl’s imagination.

“I do love a good cup of coffee.”

Harley held the heavy door open as she waved for Pamela to walk in. She doesn’t even bother to tell her that  _ shoes off _ is a house rule. holds the heavy door open and allows Pamela to walk in. Her eyes are far too busy following the curvature of Pam’s slim muscles, her shirt sticking perfectly to her shoulder blades. Oh, no, she’s far too busy studying the movement of the woman’s legs, clad in loose fit denim, to worry much about the small specks of dirt falling from well-worn Converse and being tracked from the doorway and fading to the kitchen. 

The walk to Harley’s domain feels so natural, she might have sworn then that the pair had done the exact walk a thousand times before. Muscle memory kicked in. 

Percolator. Water. Coffee. Stove top. Click, click.  Fwoosh . Fire. 7 minutes to make the best damn  cuppa Joe this side of Gotham. 7 minutes in Heaven – the aroma of ground up beans filling the room.

“Please, hav’a seat.”

Harley watched the flame from her gas stove bubble the water at the bottom of her percolator. She swayed her hips; her white petticoat danced across her knees. The coffee maker bubbled gently as she listened to the stool make its way from under the overhang of the countertop.

The blonde turned to see Pam sitting on the stool, happily waiting for her coffee. Her feet rested on the lower bar of the stool, her dirty Chucks leaving the tiniest specks of dirt on the floor below her feet – dirty gloves sat gingerly  on the bubblegum countertop. 

Harley can’t help but smile at the sight. She had always longed for her home to feel really “lived in”. Children laughing, pies baking, music turned loud while she danced in the kitchen with her... _ her  _ husband. No, Harley’s house rarely felt “lived in”, minus the spots in the home that were often engulfed in the tornado of little Lucy and Harley’s haphazard baking attempts in the kitchen while Jay was gone for long hours. The rest of their home has often felt sterile, like four walls that held the family hostage on most days, only allotting breathing room when Jay was necking with some broad in his back office. 

Harley always knew that this  _ idea –  _ that her home could be a  _ real  _ home – was just the daydream of a young American woman forever hoping that the idea of the nuclear family wasn’t just reserved for the covers of magazines or Betty Crocker television advertisements. Somewhere Harleen lost hope that a home – her home – was meant to house moments of joyous holiday celebrations, children’s games and friendly faces coming over every Friday night for her famous meatloaf. In some moments, few and far between, if someone were to peak into their four walls, past whispering wallpaper and locked doors – Harley could be found there with her daughter, smiling and rolling on the floor in a good  ol ’ fashioned tickle fight or sharing a smoke with Babs over petty community gossip... without the poisonous shadow of a man she once loved looming over her. 

Once loved...

The loud bubbling of the freshly brewed coffee on fire-lit eye brought Harley back to her kitchen, back to the moment. Back to green eyes looking right into her baby blues. This time not separated by glass, or the asphalt of their cul-de-sac or even the omnipresent  glare of Linda or her friends in town.

“See something you like?”, Pam’s quick quip came out as playful as intended, but Harley couldn’t ignore the heat in the pit of her stomach as she watched the woman rub her cheek with the back of her hand. Leaving a little dirt on her face, her red tendrils swinging with the movement and framing her perfectly cut jaw.

Harley puffed out her cheeks, blowing her bangs out before crossing her arms across her chest. 

Two can play that game.

Game? Is that what this was now? If it was just a game why did Harley’s stomach do  cartwheels each time Pamela hit her with those sarcastic flirtations? Why did the look in the woman’s eyes speak silently for Harley to lean in and why – oh, _ for heaven’s  _ _ sake – _

Game, no game or harmless banter be damned – Harley wanted to  _ win _ .

The blonde’s grin spread across her apple cheeks, “You do realize it’s 58 degrees outside, right?”

Harley: Plus one – they were even, finally.

Pamela didn’t falter.

“That’s practically summer in sunny  li’l Gotham, Harley.”

Harley resisted the urge to huff up again.  Clearly, she’d have to try harder to crack this nut.

“What’re growin’ in the middle of fall, anywho?”

“Galanthus nivalis.”

“ _ Gal-a-the-what-this? _ ”

“The common snowdrop.”

Harley scrunched up her face in confusion. In moments like this she looked too much like her daughter to deny her, even if she wanted to. Quickly, she reached up to get the coffee cups from the cabinet. 

One and – oh shit. Jay had been usin’ her favorite mug again. Of course, he’d use her favorite mint mug. The one that was perfectly stained from repeatedly pouring the right amount of coffee in it every single day...and of course, he couldn’t put it back in its proper spot. The spot she had instinctively reached for.

“They bloom in late winter”, is probably what Pamela said, though Harley couldn’t tell  ya that herself. Pamela’s voice, as intoxicating as it sounded, muffled behind her chaotic thoughts of climbing up on the countertop in her pleated swing dress. She kept her eyes on the upper level of the cabinet.

_ Hmmf _ . 

“Need a hand?”, Pam’s voice was suddenly dangerously close to Harley’s ear.

The woman’s presence was overwhelming. The smell of lavender filled her nostrils, the copper-tinged scent of dirt wrapped  its arms around the small of her waist and pulled her in, ran  its mint dripped fingers through her soft blonde hair. 

Physically, Harley’s waist stayed lonely, her hair stayed put in its perfect place – bobbing just at her shoulders. If this was a game, she was losing. 

Harley turned on her heel, her socked feet almost failing her as she flipped around. She slid until her lower back was pushed into the edge of the countertop. Pamela was so close Harley could reach out and touch her. Delicately, like a gardener holding onto the weak petals of a daisy.  So close she could – 

“I got it.”

Pam reached up and above Harley’s head to grab the cup Harley was eyeballing just moments ago. All thoughts of the pastel mint cup, Jay’s long arms placing her mug on that shelf, climbing onto the kitchen counter while trying to not rip apart her petticoat – it all drowned out. Blurry and distant.

Harley watched as Pam’s rolled sleeve moved up her arm as she reached up. Small freckles showed themselves – allowing Harley’s blue eyes to play connect the dots in her mind. For a moment, she wondered what it’d be like to play connect the dots with her fingertips instead of her eyes.

The porcelain cup made its way into the blonde’s hands like magic. Finding its home in her soft fingers.

“Do you have any honey?”, Pamela’s voice danced against her ears. The last woman she was this close to was Babs. It was only ever Barbara. She didn’t really have many  girlfriends  growing up. It was always Barbara... from the swing set to the monkey bars... to drunken nights and hugs that lasted too long... Sometimes the what-if's haunted Harley’s thoughts, sticky...stuck to her late-night thoughts but innocently sweet – a lot like – 

“Honey?”

“Yeah, peanut. Honey. Bees. Buzz, buzz.  Ya know?”, Pamela crossed her legs, bouncing her foot lightly as she fluttered her fingers into makeshift bumblebee wings. 

The flush returned to Harley’s face, “Peanut?”

More pet names? And the finger fluttering? What’s with this woman? 

Pam laughed to herself and quirked a perfectly plucked brow, “Harley, do you have any honey in this house?”

Harley blinked rapidly as if realizing what was being asked of her. 

“Oh!  _ Oh _ ! No, I don’t”, she stumbled over her words, trying to process the request. 

Pamela tilted her head slightly and brought her forefinger to her cheek in a half in an inquisitive gesture. There was an innocence in the motion that made Harley wonder what Pamela Isley might have looked like as a child – playing in the grass and collecting rocks in the pockets of her hand-sewn dresses. 

She tried pushing sweet images of small Pam from her head as she lifted the glass carafe and poured coffee into the pair of mugs. Steam rolled from the rich liquid.

“Milk?”  


* * *

  
Harley swallowed down her last sip of coffee, the sugar sticking to the bottom of the cup before letting out a laugh in disbelief. 

“ Pfff \- wait,  _ wait _ ! You’re telling me this woman –”

“Selina.”

“This Selina, she just  _ broke  _ into your house?!”

“Needless to say, Mrs. Isley wasn’t too pleased with us”, Pam half-laughed as she sat her empty mug onto the counter and shifted on the stool. “Of course, Selina told me _ I _ was the square for not letting her sneak Bruce in after curfew.”

Harley nearly choked, “Bruce? Bruce  _ Wayne _ ?”

Pamela instinctively closed her eyes and noticeably winced. Gotham was always about who’s who and who you knew; and in the cold city, past the cookie cutter houses and children on bikes – the Waynes were the biggest “who” you  _ could  _ know. 

But the onslaught of questions never left Harley’s lips. Instead, a sputter of, “Hey! I know him!”

“What?”

“Bruce! Well, I don’t _ know him _ - _ know him _ , but my girlfriend’s fiancé works with him!”, Harley’s words spilled out like dominos. One word after another fell quickly from the blonde. 

If Harley noticed the eager tone in Pamela’s voice, she didn’t react.

Pam shifted on the stool, “Girlfriend, huh?”

“Yeah! Babs. Barbara”, Harley tinkered with the her now empty mug, drawing circles on the bubblegum counter with the bottom of the cup.    
  
“She’s my best friend. Well, the only friend I really ever had – besides Jay, I s’pose”, she sighed on the last word. “Ma an’ Pa didn’t like havin’ people over. I spent a lotta time over at the Gordon’s. I pro’lly spent more time in Babs’ bed than my own”, she laughed to herself, getting lost in the memory of late-night sleepovers and whispered secrets. 

“Interesting”, Pam mused mostly to herself.

Her eyes wandered to Harley’s forearm and the bend of her elbow where a faint shadow of a purple bruised lay healing. Four semi-transparent outlines burnt into where fingers had once laid. 

“Your friend sounds lovely, Harley. I’m glad she’s a neighbor.”

“’ nd really all I got”, the sentence was quiet. Harley’s eyes didn’t move from the coffee ring that sat on the blue-green glass walls of her mug. 

Harley jumped in shock as she felt cool fingertips against her forearm. Pamela had allowed her fingers to run slowly down until she rested her palm against the top of Harley’s hand. The contact was definitely not what Harleen was used to...but hell, she felt like she was floating above the stool, her feet were feather-light as Pam started to gently draw circles on her wrist bone.

“Your husband?”

Harley couldn’t tell if the question was the response to her mumbled sentence about her friend or if Pamela’s eyes had gamboled on her healing bruises for too long. She jumped again, but now at the thought of Jay’s hands on her arms, or maybe at the sound of jingling keys in the front door. 

Lucy’s voice rang out from the living room as she bounced to the door, “Daddy!”

Pamela quietly pulled her lingering fingers from Harley’s wrist as a deep voice boomed out.

“Who the in the damn hell tracked all this dirt everywhere?”

Harley lifted her hand to her mouth to cover a small smirk as she watched Pamela roll her eyes at the sound of her husband’s voice. 

Heavy footsteps, one, two, three and – 

The crowned prince of hiked up insurance prices stomped his long shoes into the room as he loosened his tie, “Harley-girl, who in the fu-”

His dark eyes dug into Harley’s and she suddenly became aware of how close she was sitting to Pam. She found herself sitting up straighter as her husband sauntered onto the kitchen tile. 

“-is Miss Pam-la!”, Lucy shouted loudly from behind her father. 

Harley hustled to put more distance between herself and Pamela. Her bangs suddenly frazzled as her socked feet hit the floor. Fingers found the pleats of her skirt, smoothing them out as quickly as possible.

Pamela was already standing by the time that Harley looked over to her. Jay stumbled forward, his shiny black shoes scuffing the floor as he outreached a skinny, twisted hand, veins popping out. The smell of brown  liquor flowed off of him. 

The redhead simply looked down at his pale, gnarly hand and back into his black eyes. If looks could kill, Jay would have been dead in his tracks. She didn’t take his hand, but visibly ignored the request for the ritualistic handshake of a husband welcoming someone new into his home.

“Pamela Isley.”

Pamela made her way to the door, pushing past Jay on her way. Harleen followed closely behind before stopping short in the hallway. Pam reached out for the doorknob before turning on her heel and holding two fingers up in a mock wave, a smile on her face. 

“Thanks for the coffee, dollface, but I got to split”, a wink of her emerald eye left Harley frozen. Her feet stuck to the floor. Even Lucy smacking into the back of her thighs couldn’t have knocked her from her new home – a newly placed statue in their hallway, half blocking the path and aimed directly at the front door.

Lucy grabbed onto Harley’s skirt as she shouted her goodbyes, “Buh-bye, Miss Pam-la!”

Harley looked behind her only to see Jay looking up to her from under his downturned, bushy eyebrows. The look in his eye didn’t waver as the thick front door clicked shut or as his wife started to turn around to clean up the mess in the kitchen. Coffee stains on the counter and small chunks of dirt from a stranger’s shoes. Stranger? Could Harley even call Pamela that anymore? Hell, she had just been more open with that stranger than had been with her own family in years. 

Jay’s eyes made contact with Harley’s as he stumbled past her, bumping her shoulder as he tripped over his own feet. A heavy sigh escaped her as she moved to the doorway of the kitchen. She leaned into the door frame, the pressure felt good against her shoulder blades, even if it was only momentary.

Harley’s skin still felt warm from the woman’s touch. Her opposite hand found her own wrist and gently ran her fingertips on her skin, trying to mimic the sensation. Nothing. 

Her fingers moved up the same arm until she reached the cool lavender bruise, flecked in the natural pale white of her skin.

Harley rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms, covering the healing bruise. Her eyes landed on the kitchen counter, still ripe with fresh coffee stains in half circles from a shared moment. Next to two coffee cups and an empty glass carafe laid a dirty pair of gloves.

Harley’s need for a smoke became ever clear as she spoke to herself.

“Son of a bitch.”


	5. bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween 1954. Sun-kissed bruises and sweets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy halloween from gotham 1954
> 
> check out the human touch playlist (I update it often!):  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ffIXnbK0ylYIIAOjFWdHW?si=FAjL46NXSWOWoKnKb8f5oQ

The night came like a thick blanket. Shrouding Harley in its heaviness; suffocating her with the weight of Jay’s fist against her left eye. Warm blood seeped out of her nostril as her ears rang. That night, heavy with the weight of fists, was worse than most nights had been. Since Alexis, anyway. 

In some weird way, Harley felt like she could thank the girl. Jay mostly came home too drunk to pay attention to her. On top of that, his _needs_ were mostly satisfied. Meaning his hands rarely snaked around her body in the quiet night. 

The warm sun beamed onto Harley’s face as she walked, hand-in-hand, with her daughter, Lucy. The blonde squinted against the sun, wincing behind her large cat-eye sunglasses. 

_What would I even say to that girl, anyway? ‘Gee, thanks for fuckin’ my husband, miss! At least he’s home less!’_

The blackeye that hid underneath was already fading, but she still felt a twinge of pain as she scooted the large rims up her still-tender nose with her Lucy-free hand. 

If Jay’s touch was a boulder resting on her skin – Pam's had been a feather-light kiss. Just barely grazing her wrist, her hand. As if asking for consent without words. If Harley had twitched, hesitated...even thought about moving, Pamela would have as well. She knew that. But...she didn’t. Harley hadn’t wanted to pull away. She hadn’t wanted to watch Pamela walk out her door. She wanted to grab her arm, ask her to stay, to put Jay in his place. But...she didn’t. 

“ _Ma_ _!_ Ma!” 

“Yeah, babygirl?” 

“ _I_ _wa_ -wan-wanna-” 

“Take a breath, darlin’”, Harley half-laughed. Her daughter huffed, filling her apple cheeks with air as her mother bent to her level and offered a soft smile. 

“I-I”, Lucy let the air out of her cheeks all at once as she started to speak again. She quickly took a sharp breath before continuing, “I wanna ride da merra-go-roun'!” 

Harley let herself smile, a real smile. Genuine in its adoration of her daughter. In moments like this, she thought maybe their little family could be a family even without the pressing eyes of her husband in her back. In moments like this Harley found herself thinking that maybe Babs hadn’t been wrong. Maybe... 

“Okay, okay!”, Harley smiled, this time, to herself. “Let’s go!” 

Harleen found herself holding tighter onto Lucy’s small hand. The grip of her kiddo’s fingers around her own grounded her. Brought her back to reality. Hell, where would she even be without the little rugrat? Feeling her little girl's hand in hers had always made her feel more _human_... If that was even possible. 

Sure enough, Lucy found her way to the merry-go-round, plopping sloppily onto the metal platform. The girl sat neatly, brushing loose sand off of her stockings, her trusty clown doll tight in her grasp. Harley found her eyes wandering from the large metal toy to the rest of the park. Paint chipping and falling from the swing set and monkey bars. Their once bright colors a memory to her now. Horrendous blues and reds used to coat the metal contraptions. Fading colors in the shape of small hand prints and greasy fingers reminded Harley of an older Gotham. One where the tall buildings of the city didn’t act like a barrier, keeping in all of these rotting thoughts in their cages. 

Harley was young once, in a city full of life and wonder. Everything was different when she was a kid. A little ragamuffin with scuffed knees. Her Pa basically sold her for some booze. Ma didn’t even notice most of the nights young-Harley stayed gone. Those nights turned into days and then weeks when she met the mysterious rebel that came into town. A switchblade in his pocket and some sort of kindness in his heart just for her. Her very own James Dean. He was just dreamy back then. Hair slicked back; cheekbones sharp... Eyes so full of determination. The pair would sit at the park ‘til in the mornin’ under the warm summer stars. Jay would kiss her neck and whisper how he’d take her away one day... 

That was before. Before he actually _did_ take her away. Before Harley saw what hid under his mask of charm and devilish good looks. Before he whisked her away to some New York City slum... the longest year of her life. 

She came back with a few new scars, bumps and bruises, a little worse for wear than when she had left Gotham...left Babs, the only person who had ever loved her the “right way”. If there even was a right way... 

Sure enough, before too long, Harley returned to Gotham with a cheap ring on her finger and a brand-new husband at her side. 

Harley never cared about the legalities of their marriage or how many, if any, karats that pawn-store ring on her left hand held. No. Harley only wanted what every gal wanted. To love and be loved in return. To have someone to keep her steady when the road got bumpy. To start a family – a _real_ one – 

“P-push me, Ma!” 

Lucy’s little voice brought Harley’s speeding mind to a halt. The young mother felt her smile stretch across her cheeks as she wasted no time grabbing the chipped railing of the merry-go-round and pushing it has hard as possible. Her white flats dug into the brown sand under the huge hunk of metal as she gave Lucy another push. 

The little girl screeched and giggled against the breeze as her mother pushed the toy again. In the moment, Harley forgot about her bruised eye and the pain growing in her nasal cavity as she started to breathe heavily. She could feel the dried blood leftover inside of her nose shift as she allowed herself, if even for just a second, to laugh out loud with her daughter. 

“Faster, Ma!” 

Harley noted her child’s stutter was nowhere to be found in the moment. The blonde let herself laugh a little louder as she obliged. The merry-go-round could barely be caught by her slim hands. The entire playful ordeal had kicked up quite the work-out for Harleen. She silently thanked the stars above that she wore her cardigan instead of her thick jacket as she grew warm under the sun. It was such a nice day, after all. 

_Not as young as I_ _usedta_ _be, huh?_

Time moved slowly in the park that afternoon. The sun moved overhead, creeping to the right and behind the orange and red leaves of the trees. 

_Shit. Dinner_. 

Dinner time was making its way into the forefront of her mind. If it wasn’t on the table by 6:00...Well, she had no doubt her other eye would soon be sporting a matching bruise. 

“Luce”, Harley’s voice was soft, not wanting to bring their time to an abrupt end – despite knowing she had to. Lucy didn’t react to her mother’s quiet call, now lying flat on the metal platform; Arthur in her small hands, holding the doll close to her chest. Harley opened her mouth to call her daughter’s name again before looking down and seeing Lucy’s small eyes closed, a content smile on her face. The sun shining down onto the metal platform and warming her rosy pink cheeks – now tired and flushed from several minutes of laughter. 

Harleen gave the merry-go-round one more lazy push before turning and looking over the park. Her blue eyes searched for nothing in particular. Maybe she was taking in the scene, enjoying the final seconds of peace. The final pieces of quiet left in the hours before the storm blew in her front door as it did every night. 

Harley let out a deep sigh, lifting her hand to her sunglasses and finally removing them. She let the sun’s heat flood her skin, bringing some sort of relief to the leftover pain. 

When her eyes pried open again, they landed on something familiar. A pretty, pink Packard Victoria sat tightly against the curb closest to the edge of Robinson Park. Top up and no Red to be found. Harley hadn’t even realized what she was doing... her eyes were sporadic, darting around the park looking for a sharp contrast of red against green and yellows. 

Until. 

_Ah hah!_

Pamela stood, leaning against a well-shaded tree, a small notebook in her lithe hand. A pair of black, oversized, brow line style glasses sat delicately on the bridge of her nose. There she was, writing feverishly with a half worn-down pencil. Who does that in the middle of a park? A smirk formed across Harley’s face. 

_Weirdo_. 

Harley knew she was looking at Pam for too long – she knows it, but she doesn’t stop herself. She watches as Pamela’s fingers work the short pencil in her hand, scribbling across the pages faster and faster. The shuffling noise of Lucy plopping over into the grass and scooting rocks and pebbles around Arthur like some sort of odd, clown ritual snapped Harleen’s attention back to her daughter. 

_Kids are so goddamn strange._

Harley couldn’t help but let out a small guffaw at the sight of her daughter surrounding that damn doll with rocks as he lay motionless on the bright green grass. 

The sound of Harley’s abrupt laugh caused a sudden movement in the woman’s peripheral. The blonde looked over in enough time to see Pamela folding up her little notebook before slipping it into the pocket of her pleated trousers. She watched intently as Pam pushed her glasses onto her head and pulling her red hair out of her face. Harley could count the freckles on the woman’s skin under the sun. 

The wind picked up, blowing towards the young mother. The grass shifted around her as the distinct smell of mint hit the air – as if leading Pamela Isley right to her. 

“Well, hey, stranger”, the taller woman spoke softly as she approached Harley. A smile danced across her lips. 

Harley’s stomach flipped; warmth overtook her insides. Before she could stutter out a response, Pamela was already bending over to talk to Lucy. 

“Hey, munchkin! What’re you up to today?”, she spoke lowly as she eyed the odd ritualistic scene taking place before the small child. Small rocks started forming a sloppy outline around the clown. 

Lucy muttered something about lockin’ Arthur up for crimes... Not that Harley could hear her well over the sound of her blood pumping straight to her scalding hot face. She moved her fingertips to her cheek and realized she hadn’t put her sunglasses back on. If Pamela had noticed her healing bruise, she didn’t give any inclination. 

Listening to the red head speak to her daughter like a human being and not a child incapable of conversation nursed something special inside of Harley. 

“You know, Lucy, Norse sailors used to stack rocks to signal land when their peers were out on the water”, Pamela moved her slim hand over the pile of rocks yet to be placed, picking up a fist full of the small stones. 

“Lik-a-lightenin' house!”, Lucy hopped a little from her seat in the grass, undoubtedly remember the time her aunt Babs took her to the coast, further North, to see the waves. 

Pamela laughed quietly, “Exactly.” She gently placed the thickest rock on the dirt and then stuck another right on top of its flat top, then another. “Like a lighthouse, but _way_ before them.” 

Lucy’s eyes sparkled as she watched Pamela quickly stack five small rocks, one on top of the other, leaving the pile perfectly balanced. 

“Kind of like a beacon when you’re lost in a bad storm”, she smiled up to Lucy before standing up straight and stuffing her hands back into her pockets. Harley’s red cheeks turned into a smile. 

“Is that whatcha were writin’ down in your li’l notebook there, Red? Rock patterns or somethin’? What’re they tellin’ ya?”, Harley jested, lightly bumping Pam with her elbow. The brief contact almost lit Harley on fire. 

“What?”, there was no wavering in her voice. “ _Oh!_ No, I was taking observation notes on the growth of the Dogwood trees in the park”, Pamela pulled her small black notebook from her pocket and flashed it quickly before swinging it open to a page that would have appeared random if not for the intense wear of graphite pencil all over the lined paper. “The growth patterns are all _over_ the place! I have yet to conclude if it’s the height of the buildings in Gotham preventing growth...” 

She started to trail off, her thoughts overtaking her before finding herself and continuing, “You know, due to the lack of _actual_ sun hitting the east end of the park or if the factories are causing...some..sort..of...” Pamela’s sentence fell off again as she stopped herself and eyeing Harley – who was standing there with a bemused look on her face, arms crossed across her chest. She tucked her chilled fingers into the warmth of her cardigan covered arms. 

“Sorry. Nevermind”, Pam’s voice was blunt, but Harley could swear she saw her perfectly freckled face start to tinge a shade darker. 

Harley felt the warmth return to her lower stomach as it cartwheeled around inside of her body. The hot feeling in her stomach moved lower, between her legs, as she watched as Pamela bit her bottom lip in embarrassment. 

“Maybe I can talk to you more about rock patterns and factory pollution over dinner sometime?” 

The inquiry fell out of Pam’s mouth as smoothly as possible. Harley felt her eyes widen as she tightened the grip she held on her own body. 

“ _Oh_ \- “ 

“Or we can talk about that bruise on your eye. Or not. We can actually not talk at all, if you’d like.” 

_Oh no._

“Pa-” 

“Come on, Harley”, Pamela laughed a little. The sound brought Harley peace of mind and allowed her room to breathe. To take in the request. Maybe it didn’t need to be _serious._ “We can just sit a rock in the middle of the table and treat it as a third guest if it’d make you more comfortable.” 

Harley let herself smile at the idea, “Red, I don’t kn-” 

“We can let Arthur chaperone if you’d like.” 

Harley finally succumbed to her own laughter, biting her own lip lightly as she did so, “Fine! _Fine_.” 

She feigned annoyance, but the smile on her face and the light roll of her eyes didn’t make it convincing. 

“This Friday, then?” 

“Friday?” 

Lucy interrupted the exchange, “Ma!” 

Harley looked down to find her daughter peeking around Pamela’s legs, Arthur now off of the grass and in her hands once more. 

The little girl’s voice turned to a whisper, as if she was trying to avoid being rude or hurting Pamela’s feelings, “ _Halla-ween._ ” 

_Of course._

“I’m sorry, Pam, but I can’t Friday”, Harley swallowed a small taste of disappointment. 

“Halloween”, Pamela spoke in a tone that didn’t read as anger or even anything close to disappointment. “Of course!” 

Pamela stuffed her hands into her pants pockets as she turned on her heel to face Lucy. 

“What’re dressing up as? Something spooky?”, she brought her left hand from her pocket and wiggled her fingers at Lucy as she made a quiet “Ooo” noise. 

Lucy giggled and bounced on the balls of her feet, “A-a-a ghostie!” 

“A ghost, huh? Very scary!”, Pamela put her hand back in her pocket with a small smile. 

The redhead turned back around to face Harley, “No worries, doll. Maybe next time.” Pamela offered the blonde a small wink. “You two need a ride home?” 

“Oh no, that’s -” 

“P-pink car! Pink car!”, Harley went to put her hand on Lucy’s shoulder but she was already sloppily running to the edge of the park and towards Pam’s car. 

“Well, shit. I guess we’re goin’ withya, Pam-a-lamb", Harley spat out the words quickly. She felt her face go hot as she trotted quickly after her daughter. 

Harley thanked whatever God there may have been above that the drive was short. She wasn’t sure she could have stood a longer ride than the five minutes it took to get to their shared street. The ride was awkwardly quiet. What do you even say to a woman like Pamela Isley? Her hobbies stayed mysterious, no husband... no want for a husband, apparently? Were they meant to make small talk about the weather and town gossip when the woman had already seen the inside of her home, her secret kitchen corridors, stolen glances and bruises? 

The Packard pulled up to the curb in front of Harleen’s house. The blonde found herself checking her watch quickly. The golden hands ticked slowly. _5:47PM._

_Worth it._

She silently thanked Pam for the ride, offering her biggest smile as payment for the lift, before heading inside hand-in-hand with Lucy, who in turn held Arthur’s small toy hand. 

TV dinners made for a quick fix. _Thanks, Swanson._ Jay never noticed the difference anyway and she knew that deep down. No, he never knew she’d prayed and whispered swears to _whatever_ as she nuked those bad boys at 425° for 25 minutes. His whiskey breath was the only thing that touched her skin that night and for that she was thankful. The rest of the week passed without incident. Two days since the park, since the warmth of the sun in late October and the inside of that damned pink Packard. 

The breeze was cooler on Friday morning. The sun not nearly as soothing as it was in Robinson Park the Wednesday before. Harley got to chopping up a small twin sized sheet – two holes for eyes and breakfast on the table before 10AM. Not too shabby for Halloween Housewife Duty. 

Lucy made quick work of her breakfast, speaking quickly and stuttering through her one-hundred and tenth breakdown of _Casper_ through mouthfuls of syrup and fluffy pancakes – fork becoming an extension of her arm as she flailed wildly and mimicked her new favorite plot points. 

The day ticked away, the hours in the day couldn’t keep up with little Lucy.   


_12:00PM_ : Time to try on ghost costume. 

_2:00PM_ : Time to try on ghost costume and also practice trick-r-treating manners. 

_5:00PM_ : Time to try on ghost costume _again_ and make tissue ghost costume for Arthur. 

_6:00PM_ : Time to dawn the ol ’ Bozo nose, overdrawn lips and the ghost costume... _again_. 

Harley piled out of her house in her best red dress. Ironed out just right and perfectly matching her squishy red nose. The small, foam ball set comfortably on her little chalky nose. A large painted red smile sat on her lips. Her gloved hand held onto Lucy’s as they made their way down the stoop and down the driveway. “Clown” might not have been Harley’s first pick, but she’d do it ten times over to see her daughter smile up at her. Well, she was keepin’ it stylish, at least. 

Lucy’s small steps bounced wildly, allowing her make-shift ghostly sheet to whip in the air. The girl’s small Mary Janes clacked across the asphalt and her candy-gathering bag flopped carelessly without any sweets in it. 

The girl’s bag didn’t stay empty for long. Not after hitting the Smith residence or old Mr. Howard’s place. Harley kept a good hold on her daughter’s hand, keeping her close as they walked. Down the right side of the street and making a circle around the neighborhood. By the time they hit the four homes between Diana’s and Barbara’s, Lucy was all ghosted out. Ready to go home and drown herself in cheap candy and pass out in her bed by 8:30PM. 

“Ma! Ma!”, Lucy’s voice was smaller than the rustling of the children passing on the sidewalk. 

Harley couldn’t help but give a small smile, her white cream face paint cracking a smidge, “Yeah?” 

“I-I wa-wanna go home now”, she spoke through a small yawn as the adrenaline of the entire day came crashing onto her. 

“One more house an’ home, babygirl?”, Harley gripped Lucy’s hand tighter. Lucy nodded under her white sheet in agreeance. Harleen felt her stomach tighten as she eyed the pink car sitting in the driveway next door. 

“Welp, now or never, li’l one.” 

The blonde led her daughter through a small crowd of older kids at the foot of the driveway. She could have sworn she heard whispers of “is that her?” and “I recognize the car”, maybe even a hushed “does she really?”. Harley swallowed as she walked her way to the door, passing the pink car as she went. She felt herself consciously attempting to not look at the vehicle in her peripheral. 

The two made their way to Pamela’s front door. Harley’s mind fell back in time – when had first knocked on this door. The familiar click of her small heels on the concrete steps brought the image of Pamela, barefoot and casual, against her doorframe, into her head. Her freckled chest peeking out from under her white button down. Harley was certain that the memory of Pamela standing in that door way would stay burnt into her mind forever – as well as the feeling of her heart pounding into her chest. 

Harley lifted her fist to knock once again on the door, but before her knuckles could make contact, the door swung open quickly. The force of the action nearly blew her off of the stoop. 

“Trick or – _oh god-_ ”, Pam’s voice trailed off from giddy enthusiasm to terror. 

Just past the threshold of the door stood the one and only Pamela Isley, in her best green pantsuit, a black witch’s hat set lopsided on her perfectly curled, dark red hair. 

Harley couldn’t help but give a crooked grin, her white teeth contrasting against her overdrawn clown smile. 

Pam’s face dropped in, first horror, but then moved to amusement. The woman put her arm up on the doorframe, leaning against the wood with her hips jutting to the left, candy bowl resting against her the feminine curve of her waist. Despite the woman’s silly, pointed hat, her voice remained sultry somehow, “Hey, sweetheart. Come’re often?” 

Harley raised an eyebrow, her painted face skewed in delight. 

“Depends”, the blonde’s voice hit a lower octave. 

_Is that even my voice? What am I doin’?_

“Ya gonna keep wearin’ that stupid hat?”, Harley smiled despite herself. 

“It’s not stupid”, Pam moved to straighten up her hat. “The kiddos happen to love it.” 

The blonde continued on, “I like it.” 

She could hear Pamela quietly clearing her throat before she straightened up, “You know, you're no Judy Garland yourself tonight.” 

Lucy bounced herself up the steps, interrupting the exchange by shoving her bag in between the adults in front of her. 

“C-candies pl-please", she projected her voice from under her sheet costume. 

Pamela chuckled softly, “Of course, munchkin.” 

The woman lowered the bowl to Lucy, “What do you prefer? Chocolate coins, fireballs or bubblegum?” 

Lucy’s little hand hovered over the candy bowl in front of her, her fingers wiggling over a plethora of golden wrapped chocolate and pink covered gumballs. An audible huff was heard from under her sheet. If Lucy was anything like Harleen, picking a favorite candy was absolutely _not_ an option. That sweet tooth must have been genetic. 

Pamela reached down and grabbed a large fistful of various candies and dropped them into the young girl’s bag. The sweets fell into her bag with a thick _thud._ It was easily the most candy she had scored at a single house that evening. 

Lucy’s response was a small hop and a muffled laugh. 

“Just don’t tell your mother, okay?”, Pamela glanced over to Harley, who hadn’t looked away from the exchange. Pam offered Harley a playful wink before smiling and standing straight. The blonde could feel her face burning hot even under layers of painted on makeup. 

“Welp, kid, ya ready to head home?”, Harley reached up to rub Lucy’s back, urging her back down the steps. Lucy took the first step down before jumping off the bottom one and into the perfectly mowed grass. 

“Hey now, don’t forget to say ‘thank ya’, li’l miss.” 

“T-thank you, Miss Pam-la!”, the girl chirped happily as she opened her bag wide and peered inside at all her recently gathered treasures. 

“Thank you, Pamela”, Harley smiled before turning on her heel to walk down the steps in front of her. Back to her four walls. Back to Jay and back to a house of memories, now covered in ivy and crumbling in on itself. 

Before Harley could take the first step down, she felt soft fingers on her wrist once again. The touch made her feel alive. Suddenly a livewire capable of setting everything around her ablaze. 

“Harls, wait –” 

“Pam -”, Harley started strong, but lost her voice as she turned around to face the woman behind her. If her home was covered in invasive ivy, crumbling the woodwork and foundation as it grew, Pamela’s touch was something lighter, more heavenly... It felt as if the woman’s fingers grew into roots and kept her stood in place, welcoming her into the touch with every moment of passing warmth between the two women. 

If Harley were going to continue on with her thought, it was long gone to the chill in the air. 

“Do you want to go cruising with me tomorrow night? It’s Saturday and the drive-in is doing an ‘after Halloween special’ showing of the _Creature from the Black Lagoon_ half price. I don’t know if you’re into that scene, but I’d love the company”, Pamela stammered the last sentence out as fast as possible. 

Harley would have sworn that her stomach flew into her chest. 

“D-drive-in?”, she managed to stutter out the question half-heartedly. 

“Yes, ma’am”, Pamela looked down at her fingers still wrapped around Harley’s exposed wrist. She released the woman’s arm slowly, letting her own arm relax to her side. “Only if you want, no pressure.” 

Harley swallowed stiffly. _No pressure_ . It had been _so_ long since she felt the freedom that came along with the promise of “no pressure”. Would she even know how to act without constraint? Without a stern hand and cold eyes watching her as she worked through the world around her? 

Harley suddenly remembered herself, as the breeze whisked across her dry face and her real nose stayed warm under her red one. She looked to Pamela, standing there, barefoot on her top step in the late autumn air. The wind moved her long, full hair briskly. There was no malice in her expression. Only understanding, comfort and a knowing glint in a forest of green. _No pressure_. 

“Only if ya keep the hat”, Harley finally spoke into the crispness of October. Her sarcasm wasn’t missed as Pamela’s lips curled into a wide grin before her bottom lip made its way between her teeth. 

“I’ll pick you up at 6, then”, Pam turned back into her home. 

Harley grabbed Lucy’s hand has she reached the neatly trimmed grass of the yard. She looked over her shoulder back to Pamela who looked at her without breaking eye contact. 

“Don’t forget the nose”, Pam poked herself gently on the tip of her own nose. “I like it”, she joked on with a small laugh, mimicking Harley’s earlier crack. 

Harley ignored Pamela’s last statement as she walked on with Lucy, meeting the sidewalk. The children left out bustled around them as Harley looked back at Pam one last time. 

“Don’t get lost, Pammie!” 

And with that, Harley was making her way across the road with her daughter. Her home sat silhouetted against the waning moon. 

_No pressure._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank y'all so much for your patience as i update this story!~ 
> 
> the holidays wrecked me, then i immediately started prepping to move homes. 
> 
> the comments keep me going <3


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